


Grace

by brightblue



Category: NCIS
Genre: Episode: s10e11 Shabbat Shalom, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 05:42:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightblue/pseuds/brightblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony is terrified that no one will be there when she finally falls apart. Speculation for Shabbot Shalom/Shiva. Written based on spoilers for the episode, therefore slightly AU from canon. Tiva.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grace

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own most of these characters, but I do own a few. I'll let you sort out who belongs to whom. Also, lyrics taken from the gorgeous song "Hallelujah" by Leonard Cohen. Through the wonders of Google, I've learned there are many versions of the different verses of the song and I decided I liked this one best. However, it was Jeff Buckley's insanely beautiful cover of the song that played on a loop while writing this. Also, I stole a bit of a Psalm for this but I think quoting the Bible is fair game.
> 
> Okay, enjoy!

_Maybe there's a God above_  
but all I ever learned from love  
was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you  
It's no complaint you hear tonight  
It's not some pilgrim who's seen the light  
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah  
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

Leonard Cohen, “Hallelujah”

 

Eli David is dead.

He thinks he should be sad, maybe feel some regret. Instead, he stares at the pale, lifeless face of the Director of Mossad surrounded by a halo of crimson and all he can think is _you bastard_.

Over and over and over again, the words echo in his head. Anger pulses his temples, clenches his jaw. His blood pressure must be through the roof because he can’t shake the light-headed, dizzy sensation that he feels.

 _You bastard_ , he thinks but does not say out loud, _you just had to do this here, you just had to involve your daughter, the one whose life you’ve made a living hell_.

And because Ziva isn’t the emotionless automaton she sometimes pretends to be, she takes one look at the murdered body of her father and crumbles to the ground in tears. Each sob stokes the fiery rage Tony has burning for the man. But rather than rushing to his grieving partner’s side, he remains motionless, inert, trapped in his own furious internal monologue. While Ziva falls apart, he can only continue to stare down the man who was once so tall in his power but, like all others, is so small in death.

Gibbs is there, of course, gathering Ziva into his arms and shielding her crying face from the horrors of the scene. And when she begins to struggle against him, pounding his chest with her fist, his only reaction is to hold her tighter.

Tony looks on with shame, jealously even, because deep down he wants to be the one she clings to, the one who strokes her hair. They’ve become so close lately. They’ve learned to trust one another without reservation. Or so he thought. He should be the one she turns to for comfort. But, as usual, he falls just short of being her hero. That’s Gibbs’ role and he can’t replace a legend like that.

 _Fucking bastard_ , he thinks, snapping a photo of Eli’s body. He pretends that with every click of the camera’s shutter he is emptying another bullet into the man’s chest.

Ziva deserves so much better.

 

* * *

 

Crime scene processed, Eli’s body is prepared for the journey back to Israel.

Tony watches Ziva closely as the arrangements are made. Her eyes are still tinged with red, her skin colorless, but she shows no signs of a further breakdown. No signs of shock, either. She catches him staring and gives him an intense look, something along the lines of _leave me the hell alone_. Silently, he responds with a _fat chance of that_.

He wants to go to her. But Ziva has put up her usual walls and reinforced them barbed wire for good measure. Typically, Tony would ignore her threats and push his way past her defenses. All he wants to do now is gather her in his arms and feel her warm and breathing against him, but he suspects that he would get a shattered kneecap for giving in to that particular urge. Instead, he’d settle for a quick conversation in the men’s room, something short and private, but a chance for her to lay down her armor for just a few minutes. With her, he can usually manage that much.

But Gibbs is ordering him around and Vance, who is perhaps most in shock over the deadly turn Eli’s mission took, is on their ass, wanting the investigation wrapped yesterday. There is no time.

And though Ziva is rarely cold and unfeeling, she can sure pull off the Ice Queen act when she wants to. This is one of those times. The more they all watch her, the more they offer their support, the steelier she becomes.

Tony is terrified that no one will be there when she finally falls apart.

 

* * *

 

The funeral is to be held in Israel.

Vance denies the bereavement leave requests the team submits in order to accompany Ziva back to her native country. “Take it up with HR,” he grumbles, “You are well aware of the policy. Immediate family only. I need my team here, solving cases.”

Tony knows the man has been suffering these past few days, but sympathy does nothing to quell the urge he has to jam his fist into his Director’s face.

“Ziva doesn’t have any immediate family left,” Abby pleads, lips trembling. “ _We_ are her family.”

Vance’s eye twitches as he takes in the united front they present, Gibbs, McGee, Abby, Ducky, and Tony all lined up and ready to fight to be at their friend’s side. Ziva has already left for the airport and none of them like the idea of her returning to Israel alone. “Fine,” he concedes brusquely. “I’ll allow _one_. And whoever goes is taking vacation days.”

Vance gives them one last stern look before leaving.

Quick glances are exchanged, silent choices made, and then, all eyes are on Gibbs and Tony because who else would come before them—the replacement father or the partner who cares far too much? Then, Gibbs swivels his gaze to his senior agent and the choice has been made. Tony hesitates. Him? Over Gibbs?

Gibbs ignores their on-lookers and simply orders Tony to grab his gear. Tony is frozen in confusion.

“You not hear me, DiNozzo?” Gibbs barks and with a wave of his hand sends the rest of the team scurrying from the bullpen.

“Yes, boss,” he manages through his shock. And only because he’s had so much practice, he’s able to gather up his belongings in record time.

“Get your ass to the airport. Tim will have your ticket booked by the time you get there.” Gibbs takes a seat at his desk and starts flipping through his files, like there is nothing else to talk about.

Tony falters as he grabs his coat. “I think I’m the last person Eli would want at his funeral.”  Really, isn’t Gibbs the more obvious choice here? The man who has picked up the generous amount of slack Eli left behind?

“It doesn’t matter what Eli would want, DiNozzo,” Gibbs grumbles. “It’s what Ziva wants.”

“And you think she wants _me_ there?” Tony can’t help but be skeptical. He’s barely spoken to his partner since Eli died. Every time he tries, she finds some way to shut the conversation down or avoid him completely.

“Ziver needs a friend right now, DiNozzo. More than that, she needs her partner. Think you can manage that?” And Gibbs’ icy glare leaves little room for argument. Not that Tony would challenge the point. He wants to be that person for her. If she’d let him.

Tony grimaces. “Of course, boss.”

“Then get the hell out of here!” Gibbs jerks his head toward the elevator and Tony could swear there was a slight glimmer of affection in his eye. Maybe.

 “On it!” Tony gives the Marine a quick salute and hauls out of there.

 

* * *

 “I know you probably weren’t expecting me. And if you’d rather it wasn’t me…”

Tony fumbles with the backpack still slung over his shoulder. The airport terminal bustles around them, but he can hardly focus on the flight announcements because Ziva is staring up at him like he’s just sprouted wings and letting him ramble on like a fool. Which would be fine if there weren’t like five people within hearing distance, listening to him stammer on. And, for the record, he’s pretty sure the lady sitting two seats away from Ziva isn’t reading that _People_ magazine at all.

“Gibbs. I could call Gibbs if you would prefer that he go with you.” Tony mumbles, searching for any sort of reaction beyond bewilderment from his partner. This was obviously a horrible idea.

Finally, her brow unfurls and she glances back down at her book.

“No,” she shrugs and flips the page. She says no more than that so he takes it as a sign he’s allowed to stay. He begins to settle himself in, fiddling with his ticket and his cell phone, making sure his iPad is charged up and his headphones are untangled.

A few minutes later, Ziva looks up from her book, closing it over her hand to hold her place.  She studies at him, as if she’s just truly registered his presence. Eventually, she lets out a resigned little sigh and goes back to reading. “I am glad it was not Gibbs,” she states as she turns a page.

Tony smiles.

 

* * *

 

 

Tony isn’t sure what to expect when they arrive in Tel Aviv. He hopes there isn’t a Mossad firing squad waiting to greet him, but he isn’t entirely confident there won’t be.

But, in the end, it’s just them, juggling their luggage and languishing in the taxi line. Ziva lets it slip that Mossad had offered an escort from the airport and even first class accommodations on her flight in, but she’d turned them down. And though Tony entertains a brief fantasy of extra legroom and free drinks, he understands Ziva’s need to distance herself from her past.

“I am not Mossad any longer,” she reminds him firmly. As if he could forget.

But she can’t deny the guards that still watch over her father’s house. The officers remain thankfully unobtrusive and respectful as they let Tony and Ziva into Eli’s home. Tony stands in awe of the gorgeous house. On the outside, his only thought was that it was very white and very square. Inside, though, is a different story. It’s all still very geometric, true, but the floor to ceiling windows on the back of the house are not only pretty ballsy of Eli, but reveal a patio lush with greenery and, beyond that, a stunning sea view. The décor is very contemporary, lots of white and metal, but with touches of warmth throughout.

Tony cackles, giddy at the thought of unhindered access to such a luxurious space. “My personal thoughts about your father aside,” Tony grins, “the man had excellent taste.”

“Excellent designers, more like,” Ziva huffs. “I would rather stay at a hotel.”

This isn’t the home that Ziva grew up in, he is well aware of that. This is Eli’s bachelor pad, his display of status and wealth. It doesn’t exactly invite you to put your feet up and stay awhile.

“Okay, whatever you would be most comfortable with,” Tony acquiesces even when he spies what might be a pool in the yard. It’s probably too cold for that anyway. But, wait, did Ziva even see the kitchen?

As Ziva ventures into the space, Tony remains in the foyer. Partly out of a strange sense of respect, but mostly because he can’t imagine wanting to leave for a stuffy hotel room after a full tour of this place.

Deep in the living room, Ziva picks up a red frame that holds the single personal photo on display. Even from his distance, Tony can pick out Ziva and Tali, covered in sand and playing in the ocean surf, toothy grins on their faces. Ziva’s shoulders tighten and that dimple in her forehead appears. “I suppose we might as well just stay.”

 

* * *

 

“It’s only four o’clock here,” Ziva scolds when he emerges from his room in his sweats, struggling to stay awake despite the sunlight still streaming through the windows.

He makes sure she can read in his face how he feels—like he’s been hit by a truck. “Yeah, _here_. But it’s basically like I was up all night in D.C.!”

 Ziva rolls her eyes. “Your body needs to adapt to this new cycle.”

“But I’m tired,” Tony whines. Also, Eli apparently doesn’t have a TV anywhere but in his private office so what the hell else are they supposed to do to kill the evening?

Ziva looks him up and down and the annoyance in her brow soon morphs into affection. “Well, I will just have to keep you up then, hmm?”

Tony’s eyes go wide at that.

Ziva laughs. And it is a glorious sound, the first time she’s laughed in days. “Let’s go for a run. The sunshine will help your brain stay awake and the exercise will tire you out before bed.”

Tony groans. The thought of trying to do more than shuffle himself to the nearest flat surface is overwhelming. “But I’m already tired.”

“Think of it as a sight-seeing tour.” Ziva wears an air of arrogance, which he supposes she’s earned as a frequent world travel. It doesn’t make it any less annoying, though.

It’s the wistful way she looks out the window, eyes lingering on the olive trees, that changes his mind. With a put-upon sigh, Tony drags his body up the stairs in search of his running shoes.

 

* * *

 

She’s unfortunately correct, not that he would ever admit it, and the sunshine, fresh air, and exercise give him a much-needed boost of energy. The fresh sea breeze is downright invigorating.

He showers quickly and returns to the kitchen, riffling through Eli’s bare cabinets in search of dinner. 

“We should go to the store,” Tony observes when Ziva pads into the kitchen, barefoot and hair wrapped in a towel on top of her head. He smiles at the domestic picture, which earns him a cutely self-conscious look from his partner.

“No need,” she replies as she peeks into the pot of tomato sauce he’s managed to cobble together. Tasting it, she gives it a little hum of approval. “The funeral service is tomorrow and then we sit Shiva for three days. The fridge will be bursting with food.”

And at that, Ziva lowers the wooden spoon back to the stove like it weighs a hundred pounds. The reality of the situation has found her again, a gut shot that takes the wind right out of her sails. Leaning on the granite counter, she takes a few slow, deep breaths and then opens her eyes. Tony lets the plates he’d been about to set out clatter to the table as he hurries to her side. But before he can respond, Ziva seems to gather herself together again. She waves away his attention, stands up, and starts searching the cabinets for a colander.

He watches as she prepares the pasta, jumping in to help her plate their spaghetti and carry their food to the table.

“My aunts will be here early tomorrow,” she announces before digging into her dinner. “They will help prepare the house.”

Tony pauses, his fork hovering mid-air. “Aunts? Does this include the infamous Aunt Nettie?”

Ziva gives him a look. “I wouldn’t say Aunt Nettie is infamous so much as your behavior towards her was infamous.”

“Do you think she still…?” Tony can’t even consider the horrible possibility that Aunt Nettie is still angry about _that_. Already he’s dealing with his broken partner and will have to sit nicely through her bastard father’s funeral tomorrow and now this? He puts his fork down. He’s no longer hungry.

Ziva gives him a sympathetic smile and pats his hand. “Relax, Tony, she no longer thinks we are married.” Then, pausing for effect, she studies her nails. “Though I am sure she will still have plenty of questions about your possessive need to tell off my boyfriends.”

Tony gulps, now presented with the dark possibility that Nettie knows about another boyfriend of Ziva’s and his fate. “Does she know about, you know, Rivkin?”

Ziva coughs. Tony tenses, wondering if he’s made a misstep bringing that up. After a silence that seems to stretch into minutes, Ziva shakes her head. “I do not know,” she answers. “But if she did…. well, she has never really approved of my father or his colleagues, so.”

“Oh, okay,” is all Tony says in reply, going back to his food.

Ziva surprises him, though, grabbing his hand before it can reach his fork and bringing it to her mouth, placing a light kiss on his palm.

Tony is stunned, and more than a little flustered. He can’t take his eye off Ziva as she returns his hand to the table and goes back to her spaghetti like that was no big deal.

“Eat, Tony,” she orders, the harshness of her tone contradicted by a faint blush on her cheeks. He even catches a little grin playing on her lips. “And stop worrying about Aunt Nettie.”

He sneaks little looks at her while he eats his dinner. Every so often, he catches her doing the same thing.

 

* * *

 

 

He wakes up early the next morning to shower and dress and hopefully have time to make Ziva breakfast to prepare her for the day ahead. He needn’t have bothered. At seven sharp, the house is overrun by The Aunts.

There is no other way to refer to them, three women of striking beauty and formidable personality. They are Eli’s sisters, all three of them, and they descend upon the house with confidence and direction. After kissing Ziva and fussing over Tony, they send the pair to finish getting ready and take over the kitchen.

Dressed in his nicest suit, Tony goes to check on Ziva. Because he is worried about her, true, but also because he is terrified of going back into the belly of the beast without his partner’s back-up. Aunt Dina, he is quite sure, is harboring some not so secret ninja skills. His back still aches from the hug she gave him.

Knocking on Ziva’s bedroom door, he gets no response. He puts his ear to the door next but hears no signs of life.

“Ziva?” he warns before slowly opening the door.

When he enters the room, he finds her sitting on the bed wearing only a black bra and matching slip. Her hair is done, straightened and pulled half up, with just a touch of make-up on her face. She glances up at him as he approaches. Her eyes shine bright with unshed tears, her lower lip trembles. He’s struck by how beautiful she really is.

“Hey,” he starts, sitting down next to her slowly, giving her the chance to kick him out. She never does. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“It is not okay, Tony,” she manages out. He can tell that it’s taking all her effort not to cry. “I am burying the last of my family today. And even though Eli…even though he was a bastard…he is… _was_ …still my father.”

She breaks out into a sob then, keeling forward on the bed. Tony rushes to catch her before she can slide to the ground and gathers her in his arms. She goes willingly, burying her face into his chest and letting him pull her into his lap.

“I know, Zi, I know,” he comforts. He runs his hand over her back, feeling the tight muscles there, stroking her soft, cool skin. He kisses her temple. He is really not sure of what he’s doing, if this is even helping. But he pushes past his insecurity and goes with what feels right. Because he wants nothing more than for her to feel whole again.

“I hated him, Tony,” she admits, her face emerging to rest on his shoulder. He rests his hands on her waist so she knows he’s listening. “He did so many awful things. Not only to me, but also to my mother and Ari and who knows who else. And yet. And yet he wasn’t a terrible father all of the time. And in the end… he seemed to be really trying. But I shut him out.”

“True,” Tony allows. “He came to you to make amends. But he also came to you running away from a problem he had created. A problem that almost got others killed.” He feels like kind of a jerk for pointing that out, but it’s hard to keep his anger towards Eli from bubbling over when it runs so close to the surface.

“You are right,” Ziva sighs. She sits up straighter and tries to compose herself. “But today I have to pray for him, and for the next three days I have to hear from others how sorry they are that he died. How am I supposed to do that?”

Tony purses his lips. He doesn’t really know. “You nod and smile and thank them for their condolences. You focus on the good times. And then go back to hating Eli when it’s all over.”

“I do not really hate him, Tony,” Ziva whispers, taking a long, watery breath. She entwines her hand with his, watching their fingers mesh together with intensity. “I wish I could.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, squeezing her hand. “It can never be that easy, can it?”

She gives up a little sardonic laugh, trying to wipe away the last of her tears. “No.” She takes another deep breath and then stands up. Touching her hair and face, she scowls. “I am a mess.”

Tony gives her a moment of consideration even though he already has an answer. “You’re beautiful.”

With a snort, she smoothes down her slip and heads toward the closet. “You’re just saying that because I’m half-naked.”

Gasping, he pretends to notice that fact for the first time. He stifles the urge to correct her, to make her understand that she is always breathtaking to him—all done up, of course, but also staring down a dead body with her hair pulled back and her NCIS cap on. Even now, even wearing little more than her grief, she is stunning to him.

But he suspects that humor is the best course of action now and so he lets it go. He doesn’t deny her accusation and makes sure she catches him ogling her as she slips on her dress, enjoying the play of exasperation on her face. Anything other than sadness.

 

* * *

 

_“_ _Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging... Be still, and know that I am God..."_

Sometime during the second Psalm, she reaches over and grabs his hand. He squeezes hers back and the ceremony continues on.

She keeps touching the torn ribbon pinned to her chest. She doesn’t cry.

 

* * *

 

 

After the funeral, mourners descend upon Eli’s house.

At first, conversation is subdued. Family, friends, and old Mossad colleagues skirt around Ziva, their voices hushed, offering overly sincere words of condolences. A few company men share what Tony assumes are vetted anecdotes of Eli’s tenure at Mossad. Tony keeps to himself in the corner of the room, one eye always on his partner.

He marvels at the grace with which she handles the condolences from the mourners. It has to be uncomfortable, rubbing elbows with those who treated her like a disposable pawn at Mossad or questioned her loyalty to her native country when she moved to America.

As it is, he can read the tension in her shoulders whenever one of her former colleagues approaches. She keeps her face solemn, a gentle grin curving her mouth at all the right times. Occasionally there is a flutter of her eyelashes as if she were holding back tears. An Oscar-worthy performance if ever he saw one.

Tony nods and smiles whenever someone pats his arm as they walk by, though few ask who he is or even directly talk to him. He supposes the rumor has spread that he is Ziva’s NCIS partner and that he is either representing the agency that failed to save Eli, the very same agency their Director had illicit dealings with, or that he is there as Ziva’s lover because what other reason would a man have to travel halfway across the world to attend a funeral? He really hopes that no one remembers him as the man who killed Rivkin and bested Eli in interrogation. But from the nasty looks often sent his way, he determines that Mossad men have long memories.

“Can I get you anything, Tony?” Aunt Nettie is suddenly at his side, her smile a warm facsimile of Ziva’s.

“Oh no,” he refuses, holding up his plate of uneaten appetizers. “I’m okay. Thank you.”

Nettie squeezes his arm with surprising force. “You are a good man. You take care of my Ziva.”

Unexpectedly flattered, Tony fights back a smile. “Well, I try. She isn’t the easiest woman to wrangle.”

“David women are a challenge,” she winks. “But well worth the effort.”

He laughs. “So, Nettie, about that phone call—

“Psh!” The older woman stops him with a swat to the chest. “Water under the table! That conversation gave me and my sisters something to talk about for months.”

Tony grimaces, not wanting to imagine how those went. “Glad I could be of service.”

She sidles up closer to him. “But are you sure you are not married? Engaged? Dating even? Because Ziva is not getting any younger, and neither are you. And I’ve seen the way you two interact. It would be a shame to waste such compatibility, such chemistry! Aren’t you worried another man will come in and snatch her up? You should be!”

Forcing an uncomfortable laugh, Tony tries to formulate a response to her tangled web of questions. Do all Davids possess super spy skills? Because clearly, there’s something in the genes. Something about Nettie makes his palms sweat and he’s forgotten the questions already. “No, well, I mean, _yes_.”

Okay, well, that was something at least. Let her deal with that. He’s not even positive which question he was attempting to answer. Nettie’s eyes light up about something, though. And he can see her mind turning with even more questions that threaten to spew from her mouth.

“Uh, Nettie, how long do these things normally last? Ziva looks awfully tired and—

“Do not worry! I will take care of it!” She interjects, holding her hand up. Then, searching the room, she snaps in the direction of her sister, Tovah, and stage whispers something in Hebrew. A moment later, The Aunts have mobilized and within five minutes, guests begin taking their leave.

 

* * *

 

 

The final mourners have left, The Aunts swept out behind them, and the house has taken on a strange quiet.

Tony finds Ziva in her father’s office. The room had been off limits to visitors and for this reason, and all that the space signifies, it feels much colder than the rest of the place.

Ziva is running her finger along a shelf, tapping the spines of the books she finds there. Tony watches her as he pours them each a good two fingers of scotch from the decanter on a side table.

“Anything good?” He asks; very few of the books are in English.

Pausing, Ziva raises her eyebrows at him and pulls a book from the shelf. “Raising Your Child in Your Image: How to Create the Perfect Weapon.”

Tony’s mouth drops open. “Seriously?”

Ziva laughs. “No. Of course not. It’s a guide to the economic structures of Western Europe.”

“Oh,” Tony sniffs, and though he acts bruised he is glad she took the opportunity to make light of the situation. With him, black humor usually means the worst but Ziva isn’t one to make a joke unless her mood has been lifted.

He walks over to her and hands off a drink. Ziva meets his eyes and, not looking away, takes a sip of the alcohol. Her eyes water a bit but she doesn’t otherwise betray the harsh taste.

“How are you?” He asks, his voice low.

Ziva blinks up at him a few times and shrugs. She takes another sip of her scotch, licking her lips afterwards this time. She has to know how focused he is on her, on how he is trying to read her every cue, and how, therefore, that one gesture is nearly his undoing. His mouth goes dry and his pulse picks up speed. Things go blurry for a brief second. The scotch can’t have hit him yet. It is her. All her. Well, her and the fucking long day they just had. But now isn’t the time to be intoxicated by his partner, by the darkness swirling in her eyes and the languid way she turns away from him, like she knows he can’t tear his gaze away from her.

“I am fine,” she says, as if he should’ve anticipated any other answer. Her voice is throaty, choked with some dangerous emotion, and that is yet another trigger for his body to respond. He watches her. She turns away from him to contemplate Eli’s private view of the Mediterranean. After a moment, she slips off her bracelet and then her earrings, placing them delicately on a side table. Her heels are toed off next and kicked to the side. Her toes are painted some shiny purple color. She wriggles them into the plush rug. He swallows hard. Lets his eyes travel up her body, slowly, starting with her toes and finally meeting her stare in the reflection of the window. Even through the second hand image on the glass, he can feel her smoldering gaze.

She tips the rest of the scotch into her mouth, swallowing the rest in one go. Then, she looks back at him over her shoulder. “I am ready for bed now. Would you mind?” And in a slow, deliberate movement, she shifts the curtain of her hair aside, baring the back of her dress to him.

He inhales sharply. Is she…?

No, that is ridiculous. She mostly certainly is _not_. This is Ziva, his partner, and they are standing in her dead father’s office in Israel and it is just that the neck of her dress is cut awfully high and of course it would be difficult to reach that particular spot on her own.

Forcing himself to breathe normally, Tony steps closer to her. He realizes that the pattern of her breath isn’t exactly normal, either. His hand hovers over the tiny clasp and zipper for a long moment, afraid to touch, afraid he will show her in this intimate yet ordinary gesture how much he really cares for her. She is studying him in the glass, he knows.

“Tony…” she mutters and it spurs him into action. His fingers fumble for a moment but he manages to release the clasp and ease down the zipper without embarrassing himself too much.

Job done, he knows he should remove his hand but her skin is on fire beneath the fabric of her dress and she is making no move to leave.

“Ziva,” he hums, and his hand moves down from the zipper and traces the outline of her hip against the fabric of her dress. He rests his hand on her waist, giving her a gentle squeeze. “You did a nice job today.” His voice is just above a whisper, scratchy and unused sounding.

It’s a strange sentiment to share, that much is evident in the raised eyebrows he catches in the reflection, but he believes it. She did do an amazing job, managing not to give these bastards anything of herself, to be the proper grieving daughter and not cursing and screaming when she had every reason to.

He doesn’t expect an answer from her and doesn’t get one. Instead, he watches her in the glass as his hand slides up the skin of her back left exposed by the undone zipper. Her eyes slip closed and when his thumb rubs the top of her spine, she bites her lip. He probably should stop, but he doesn’t. He moves aside the fabric of her dress just a bit so be can press a ghost of a kiss to the nape of her neck. She lets out a shuddering breath. That spurs him on. He slowly, delicately kisses his way down the exposed patch of skin.

She remains still, says nothing. But he can hear her breath as it catches and releases, so he continues. He doesn’t move any lower than her shoulder blades, but he does open the dress further, giving himself more skin to work with. Eventually, his hands find their way inside of the garment and slide down her body to grasp her hips. His fingers clutch the silk of her slip and she stumbles a bit, falling back against him.

He’s crossed a line now, that much is true. But he can’t stop. He can’t stop touching her and caressing her. Can’t stop showing her how much he cares because for the first time since this all started he finally feels like he’s getting the message across. Besides, any words he can think to say are too much right now.

Ziva gasps when he brushes his lips against the curve of her neck. Her head falls to the side; her neck open to him, her body relaxed, and the movements send her dress cascading to the floor.

And here she is again, in nothing but her bra and slip, and he knows he’s holding her at her most emotional, most fragile, and the fact that she trusts him like this…

“Tony, please,” she urges, finding his hand. Her voice sounds so small and desperate that he hesitates. But then she’s rocking her hips back against his, and he loses the will to protest. She guides his hand to her breast. Sighs happily when it slips inside her bra. He closes his eyes, buries his nose in her hair, and tries to memorize the weight of her in his hand.

She bucks against him suddenly and it startles him to attention. It’s then he catches sight of her in the glass again and sees the silent tears streaming down her face.

“Oh, hey. Oh, Ziva,” he whispers, panicked, and pulls back from her.

Ziva fights it. She grabs his wrist hard and tries to keep him close. “Tony. I am fine.”

But she’s not, clearly. And he’s torn.

When he doesn’t make any further moves, Ziva turns in his arms. He gets a good look at her face then, at the watery lines marring her olive skin, and he knows his responding look is one of concern, of sympathy.

Ziva doesn’t like it, that much is clear. Her face shutters for a second, then goes much darker. Her only concession to the fact that she was crying is two quick swipes of her cheek.

“Ziva, it’s okay,” he reassures because he doesn’t know what else to say. He palms her face and is reminded of another time when he held her in the same way. He runs a thumb across her cheek and she closes her eyes.

“Please,” she begs, gripping at his arms. “I just need to feel something else.”

It isn’t right. He knows that. But he also understands the depth of her pain right now, the conflict between grief and guilt she must feel. He’s been there before and, fuck, if he can do something, anything, to give her a moment of relief… Well.

He’d do anything for her.

So he frames her face with his hands and waits for her to open her eyes. When she does, he knows she can tell she got him. Her eyes become clearer, suddenly, and more alive. They dart across his face, taking him in, making sure. He nods. She sighs in relief before pressing her lips against his.

He breathes her in, tries to take it slow, but Ziva isn’t at all interested in slow. She presses forward, urging his mouth to move against hers. The kiss escalates quickly, not unlike the last one they shared all those years ago in the hotel. She is devouring him and he responds in kind. He can’t help it. She’s an expert at stirring lust in his body, at making him lose his mind just a little bit. He tastes the salt on her skin, in her mouth, and it only drives him harder, making him more determined to help her lose her mind just a little bit, too.

Her hands are quick in their removal of his jacket and between kisses he manages to get free of his tie. She has him down to his undershirt, her fingers working on his belt, when she begins to back him up to the couch.

With a thud, he tumbles back upon the leather upholstery and she settles herself in his lap. It gives him a moment to take in his surroundings, to remember where they are.

“Are you sure you want to do this in your dad’s office?” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he realizes how dumb they are.

Ziva stops cold. Her hands drop from his body. He makes a face. Yeah, not his best move ever. In fact, arguably one of his all-time worst. Dragging out the Daddy Issue while Ziva’s hands are in his pants? Not smooth. But his eye had caught on a photo of Eli with the Prime Minister of Israel and he is now more than a little weirded out.

Ziva directs an exasperated sigh towards the ceiling. It affords him a wonderful view of her breasts about to spill out of her black satin bra. That, and the fact that she’s still straddling him, her shapely thighs tensing against his and, wait, why does he have a problem with this?

The mood is shattered, probably, and though he wasn’t exactly one-hundred percent on board with this being a good idea to begin with, now that he’s gotten a taste of Ziva, well, he’s never really excelled at being an honorable man.

He runs his hands up Ziva’s rib cage. He nuzzles his nose into her neck, inhaling her scent. She automatically wraps an arm around his head, threading her fingers into his hair and kissing the top of his head. So all is not lost, it seems.

“He hated me,” Tony reminds her, tracing a path down her neck with his tongue. “Fucking me in his office would be a really good way to piss him off.”

She laughs. A strange mix between a sob and a laugh, yes, but there’s mirth in there somewhere.

Kissing his temple, she pulls his head up by his hair so he can look at her. Her eyes are clear, focused, the most Ziva-like he’s seen them in days. Her lips curl up in amusement. He hadn’t realized how much he’s missed this look on her. So he pulls her in for a deep kiss. Because, well, you can’t put the cat back into the bag or whatever.

But he doesn’t let Ziva escalate the kiss into the frenzied passion of before. Instead, he holds her cheeks carefully in his hands and urges her to let him lead. She does. He goes slowly, tracing her lips lightly with his tongue before pressing his mouth to hers. When he pulls back she looks at him, dazed. But in a good way.

“He never loved me, did he?” she asks. And then the darkness is back, another storm cloud passing through. Her hand falls to his chest, coming to rest over his heart.

 “You were his daughter,” he answers, because that should be enough of a response. His fingers draw nonsense on her ribs. He bites his lip, searching for an answer he couldn’t possibly know. “He loved you in his way.”

She shakes her head, her eyes getting wetter, darker. “No. He cared about me. Sometimes. When it suited his needs.” Ziva’s voice takes on a hysterical, urgent tone. She’s blinking back tears now. Her hands grip his forearms painfully. “And perhaps now he was trying to learn to love me. But he never loved me. Not like he was supposed to.”

“No,” Tony concedes, his own eyes suddenly damp. “Not like he was supposed to.”

She’s on the verge of breaking. He can feel it in the gentle tremors that run through her body, in the way her skin has rapidly cooled.

She nods, biting her lip. “But you…you love me…” Her voice sounds so lost, so vulnerable, and her eyes search his face desperately for a truth he hopes is laid plain there. Her fingers curl into his skin. “Right?”

She’s asking so much of him. Too much, maybe, but he’s proven before that with her there’s really no such thing. And it isn’t right of her, not now, not when she’s feeling like this, to ask this of him.

His hesitation makes her regret. She looks down, drops her hand from his arms. “I am sorry, Tony. I should not have….”

But his heart is broken just like hers, he realizes, so what is the point of inflicting more damage to either one of them? Why shouldn’t she know how he feels? For the first time, it doesn’t seem to matter if the sentiment is returned. Because right now she feels like she has no one when that’s anything but the truth. And if it will make her feel whole again? Like she matters? Perhaps repair some of the damage Eli inflicted on her? Well, it would be worth it.

He tilts her chin up with his knuckle. She’s crying those silent tears again.

“More than anything, Ziva,” he admits.

And that’s it. She collapses into his arms. Deep, gut wrenching sobs soak his skin. He holds her close, tries to keep her trembling body from falling apart, and whispers kind words into her hair. He strokes her back until her breath evens out, until she falls asleep tucked safely against him.

* * *

He wakes up sometime in the middle of the night to an empty bed. After Ziva had fallen asleep in his arms last night, he’d roused her just enough to help her walk up to bed (he was getting far too old to even attempt to carry her up a flight of stairs). He had every intention of tucking her in and heading back to his own guest room, but she’d looked up at him with sleepy eyes and had asked him to stay. There was no refusing such a request so he had stripped down to his boxers and undershirt and crawled into bed with her. And though it was Ziva who had requested the physical comfort, he had found himself taking solace in her presence, in knowing just when she dropped off into sleep. His own bedroom just steps down the hall had felt like a world away.

But she is gone now. He rubs his eyes and wills his body awake. Propping himself up on his elbows, he scans the dark room for any signs of her. It doesn’t take him but a moment to register the soft light spilling from the crack in the bathroom door and the scent of lavender in the air. He ignores the cracking and creaking of his body as he rolls out of bed. Making his way to bathroom, he finds that Ziva left the door slightly ajar. Through the crack, he spies his ninja soaking in the tub.

He watches her for a moment. She looks relaxed, finally, with her eyes closed and fingers gently splashing the water as she hums a quiet tune. He decides to leave her be for now and heads down to the kitchen. His stomach reminds him that he hasn’t eaten since he’d nibbled on appetizers earlier.

The fridge is overflowing with food; he hardly knows where to start. He finds some sort of pastry and shoves it into his mouth. Luckily, one of The Aunts had the foresight to set a ready-made plate of sandwiches and various finger foods dead center on a shelf, almost anticipating a late night meal. He juggles that with two bottles of water and heads back upstairs.

“Ziva,” he calls into the room, nudging the door open just a bit with his head. He pauses, giving her the chance to protest.

“Hmm,” is her groggy reply. “Come in.”

He pushes the door open with his shoulder. Her face lights up when she sees what he’s brought. His eyes flip to the ceiling when he notices the lack of bubbles in that bath and the tantalizing amount of warm, rosy, wet Ziva skin on display.

“Food!” she grins, her sudden exuberance drawing his attention again. His eyes widen at her lack of modesty as she leans forward in the bath. He shouldn’t be surprised; this is Ziva after all. But given the turn of events earlier this evening, he thinks it best to aim for platonic.

There’s no place to set the plate of food but on the vanity, so there it goes. She can eat when she is done with the bath. Ridding himself of the food, he pulls up a fluffy rug next to the bathtub and takes a seat. It’s a much better position. The tub is a deep, claw-foot deal and so most of Ziva’s naked body is hidden from his view.

“Sleep well?” She asks, sinking back into the water again. She moans her appreciation. Tony bites his lip.

“Not as well as you, it seems,” he teases. He dabbles his fingers in the water and winces at the temperature. “Stewing yourself in there, David?”

She chuckles, then drawls out, “I like it hot.”

“Uh huh.” And he watches her for a moment, studies the relaxed lines of her face and wonders what will become of them when this is all over. Because predawn splashes in the tub? Not such a bad thing.

Opening her eyes, she considers him. He rests his chin on the edge of the tub, still swirling the water with his fingers, and just looks back.

“Are you getting in or what?” She murmurs, breaking their staring match, and then closes her eyes again. And that’s probably for the best because there’s nothing graceful or sexy about the way he clamors into the tub after only a second of indecision and another few seconds to strip off his underwear. He yelps at the hot water and splashes Ziva as he tries to slide behind her. By the time he’s got himself settled, though, Ziva is giggling and touching him and it’s worth every second of discomfort. He said he would _aim_ for platonic. Is he really to blame if her sultry request made him miss the mark?

“This is nice,” he allows as she relaxes her slippery body against his. She gives a pleased moan in agreement and rests her head on his shoulder.

“I am glad you are here, Tony,” she says with a sigh. He isn’t sure if she means _here_ as in Israel or _here_ as in the bathtub. He doesn’t ask. Not sure where to put his hands, he perches one arm on the side of the tub and another across her stomach. He focuses really hard on not getting lost in the sensation of her all around him. Damn heady essential oil smells.

“You don’t think Gibbs would get into a bubble bath with you?” He teases, because she seems in the mood for it and Gibbs is a time-tested source of mutual joking.

“Ha!” she snorts, “Yeah, right. Gibbs doesn’t strike me as the bubble bath type.”

“And I do?” He pretends to be offended.

She grabs his arm to use as leverage as she fits herself even closer to him. He squeaks.

“Mmm, yes,” she grins wickedly.

Okay, then.

They rest for a minute, long enough for him to adjust to the scalding hot water and find a focal point that is not the rivulets of water running down Ziva’s chest. He closes his eyes and rests his head on the back of the tub. It’s not the most comfortable thing for his neck, but seems to work for his partner. She snuggles against him again, drawing another unmanly noise from his lips. He then has to wonder if she isn’t doing this all on purpose. No, wait. Of course she’s doing this on purpose.

Well, he can take a hint.

He slides his hand down over her hip, resting it low on her belly. Ziva tenses against him; her breath hitches. He takes that as a good sign, slipping his fingers even lower and running them lightly across her skin. Ziva arches against him, her body requesting his touch. She whimpers his name. Heat flares in his own body at that, but he forces those thoughts aside because this is about her. He runs his nose along her jaw, then her neck, inhaling her scent. He retraces the same trail back down, with his lips this time, trying to go slow as Ziva starts squirming in his arms. She presses his wrist lower and lets out a sigh of relief when he complies with her demand, tracing a finger along her silky heat.

And then he’s lost in a trance, lost in the feeling of her body pressed against his, of the ripple of her muscles as he draws waves of pleasure through her body. Soft sounds escape her mouth, bliss washes across her face. She’s forgetting, just for now, just for a moment. Soon, morning will come and it will start all over again, but he has her now and he can make her forget.

She falls apart in his arms once again but this time, it makes her smile.

“C’mon, Ziva,” he mumbles into her hair as she lies boneless against him, “time for food and bed.”

She moans contentedly as he helps her and her wobbly legs out of the tub. She lets him kiss her after he’s bundled her up in a fluffy towel, one last indulgence. It isn’t long before her eyes look heavy and he knows she’ll be out as soon as she hits the pillow. She waves off his attempt to feed her and stumbles into bed. She pats the space behind her and, a few minutes later, he finds her body spooned against his once again.

Sleep comes easily.

 

* * *

 

 

He blinks awake, trying to shield the sun from his face.

The sun. Uh oh.

“Ziva?” He shakes the sleeping ninja in his arms.

She groans, turning her face into the pillow.

“Ziva, time to get up!” He tries to rouse her again, searching the room for a clock. His eyes land on one set on the dresser. Squinting, he determines it to be just over an hour before The Aunts are set to arrive. Not as dire as he’d first thought, but definitely time to get up.

Ziva rolls onto her back and stretches her body awake. He’s glad he’d stuffed her back into her pajamas last night. She catches him watching her and smiles.

“Sleep well?” He asks, raising his eyebrows.

She looks up at him, eyes wide. Her mouth opens and closes, her eyebrows lift and fall. A whole series of expressions make their way across her face in a matter of seconds. It’s what she does when he catches her off guard and it’s both appealing and maddening at the same time. She leaves him with a look of bewilderment as she rolls back onto her side, her face now mostly hidden from view by a curtain of hair.

“Yes. Thank you,” is her muffled reply.

He makes a face to her back. An awkward silence falls over them. He wants to touch her, to kiss her good morning, but he isn’t sure their relationship has made that leap by the morning light. He worries that Ziva regrets what happened the night before. She must, if she won’t even look at him.

But he doesn’t regret it. And on the off chance that maybe she, like him, is just unsure how to approach this shift in their relationship, he decides to press the issue. Because he doesn’t think he can make it through the day with this hanging over his head, without knowing where they stand. So he makes a move. Propping his head up on his hand, he leans over her and brushes the hair out of face.

He finds an apprehensive expression waiting for him. “Tony, about last night…”

His hand freezes mid-air. The furrow in her brow is not a good sign. His stomach drops. Ziva makes an aggravated sound and rolls onto her back to look at him. Tony forces himself to stay put, to let her voice her concerns, even when his instincts are telling him to run from this conversation.

She sighs, buries her face in her hands, then removes them again. “What I said…I should not have…”

He frowns, having no idea where she’s going with this. Confusion replaces dread.

Frustrated with herself, she grimaces and shakes her head. Then, she takes a deep breath and starts again. “What I asked you last night. I had no right to do that.”

Then, it hits him. Oh, that.

Funny, he doesn’t feel bad about that in the least.

His hand returns to its original mission and begins stroking her hair. She looks up at him with troubled eyes.

“It doesn’t matter,” he reassures her. “You didn’t run screaming from me, so as far as I’m concerned, we’re good.” He forces a wide grin on his face. He doesn’t regret her knowing, true, but that doesn’t make him totally comfortable with it.

She rolls her eyes at his glibness. Then, she gets serious on him again. “I am not ready to say it yet.” She pauses. “But I want you to ask me.”

He takes in her solemn expression. The sincerity in her eyes is all that he needs to know. “Ziva, you really don’t have to—

“Tony!” She snaps, then takes a deep breath to compose herself. “Ask me. Please.”

He lets her gain her wits then takes a long minute to trace the features of her face with his eyes. He can hardly hide his smirk when he asks, “Ziva? Am I more important to you than your beloved knife collection?”

She blinks at him. Wrinkles her brow. And then makes that face she often makes before inflicting pain upon him. But before she can get violent on him, he strokes her cheek with his thumb and gives her his most charming smile. He wants her to know that he understands, that he’s letting her off the hook a little bit for now if she’ll only take his lifeline. After a moment of consideration, she smirks.

“I do not know, Tony,” she sniffs, wrinkling her nose. “My knives are very important to me.”

He raises his eyebrows. He senses a set-up but plays along.

She reaches for him, strokes his chin, and whispers, “but they are replaceable and you, Anthony DiNozzo, are not.”

He feels all warm and tingly inside after that, or maybe it’s the kiss that Ziva plants on his lips. They kiss languidly, taking the time to discover and explore. It’s not until Ziva rolls herself on top of him that Tony realizes it’s escalating.

He pulls away, panting for air. “Ziva. Your aunts. They are coming over soon. And all the people…”

Ziva’s lips fall into a pout. “We could just not answer the door?”

“Something tells me that wouldn’t stop your aunts in the least.”

Laughing, Ziva rains kisses down his jaw. “David women are very persistent.”

“So I’ve learned,” he grunts when she swirls her tongue in his ear. She doesn’t seem to be going anywhere so he swats her ass, causing her to yelp. “You shower first. I’m going to need a minute here.”

But apparently so does she, as she stops her seduction and collapses on top of him. He pushes the hair from her face only to find her staring up at him, defeated. He gives her a questioning look.

“I wish we could just stay here. Just us. No one else.” Her words are tinged with petulance, but he catches the sentiment there all the same. Neither of them is ready to go back to reality. Not after the night they had. Not after discovering how good they are at existing in their own little world.

“Me too, Ziva,” he agrees and decides it’s okay to linger just a little bit longer. The real world can wait.

 

* * *

 

“Ziva looks well today,” Aunt Nettie says, giving him the side eye. It’s all she says but her tone is about as subtle as Abby’s platform boots.

“She does,” he concedes because it’s true, and because he likes to think that maybe he’s had part in his partner’s improved mood. Even from across the room, Ziva seems to sense she’s being talked about and looks up from the conversation she’s having to find him. She gives him a small grin and then goes back to chatting with the two ladies who seem very intent on touching her hair. Ziva does seem more herself today, less tense and on edge. Putting aside his own ego, he has to wonder if it’s not the company that’s been to visit so far. It’s been family and friends mostly, without a Mossad officer in sight.

Aunt Nettie scans the room with him, making little observations as she goes. He’s impressed by what she notices. He probably shouldn’t be, though. He’s beginning to wonder if Mossad training exercises aren’t a standard part of David family celebrations.

Tony sips on his soda as he keeps an eye on the slowly dwindling crowd. He waves goodbye to a man who said he knew Eli from the gym (okay, _he’s_ probably a Mossad officer) as he takes his leave. Tony has tried to be friendlier today. He’s made more of an effort to mingle and chat, feeling more comfortable circulating after Ziva’s admission this morning. Ziva really does want him there, it seems. And not just because he’s her partner and he has her back, but because she really cares about him.

“You know,” Aunt Nettie begins as he takes another swallow of his drink to hide the goofy grin that’s stolen across his face, “my third child was conceived when we were mourning my mother-in-law. Sex is a good way to deal with grief. It helps you find yourself again.”

Tony chokes on his beverage. From across the room, Ziva looks up at him in alarm, which draws the attention of a few other guests as well.

Nettie pats his back, waving Ziva back to her conversation and giving their onlookers an exaggerated look of reassurance. “Do not _ever_ tell Ziva’s cousin that.”

“Oh no,” Tony says as soon as he can breathe again, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Nettie turns serious. “My brother was a complicated man. He did not make life easy for his children.”

Tony meets her eyes, not bothering to hide the scorn he has for the way Eli treated Ziva most of her life. “No, he didn’t.”

“Ziva has been through so much,” she continues, fiddling with her necklace. For the first time, Tony notices it’s very similar to the one Ziva used to wear. His heart aches in a familiar way. “I hope she can get through this, too.”

“She will,” Tony promises. “Even if I have to drag her through it kicking and screaming.”

Nettie looks up at him with a smile. “That could be a challenge,” she chuckles. “David women are very persistent.”

 “Ha! Ziva said the same thing to me this morning when I was trying to get her out of—

He stops mid-sentence and feels his face turn red. Why can’t he keep his damn mouth shut around this woman?

“Uh-huh,” Nettie beams knowingly at him. She pats his cheek. He grimaces.

“You know, normally, I’m a pretty suave special agent. I have a bit of a reputation as a smooth-talker. Just keep that in mind.” He dusts some imaginary lint from his jacket, putting on his best smile for the older woman.

She sparkles right back at him. “Ah, men are powerless against it.”

“Let me guess,” Tony acts scared, drawing a laugh from Nettie. “The David women possess some mystical sort of charm?”

“You doubt that, Tony?” Ziva suddenly purrs into his ear, making him jump. Damn sneaky ninja. Both women laugh at him. He acts hurt, but can’t help the grin that breaks out on his face when Ziva stands next to him and grabs his hand. Nettie winks at him.

“He was trying to defend his reputation as a…” Nettie turns to him, puzzled. “What did you call it? Easy talker?”

Ziva snickers. “Oh. Is that so?”

“Shhh. Ziva. Don’t tell her the truth,” he stage whispers. “I think I’ve won her over.”

Nettie nods, eyes twinkling. “I knew that any man Eli disliked so much had to be good for Ziva.”

Tony finds that amusing, but checks in with Ziva before reacting. She’s smiling and rolling her eyes a bit, and suddenly it’s easy to picture her as a rebellious teenager. So he takes that as his cue to smirk and shrug, the picture of self-effacing charm.

But the moment of levity soon passes and Ziva exhales loudly, drawing concerned looks from Tony and Nettie.

Tony gives her hand a squeeze and takes a moment to study her face. “How—

“I am fine,” she insists before he can even ask. But there’s no exasperation in her tone; she seems sincere. Still, he frowns. She gives him another grumpy eye roll. “Yes. I really am fine, Tony.”

He tilts his head at her and she begrudgingly continues.

“Exhausted,” she adds, “and itching to get out of this house. I am not sure I can make it through another day of this, but… Other than that, I am fine.” She finishes the sentence on a whisper, looking up at him with imploring eyes. “Okay?”

“Okay,” he allows. He can’t resist dropping a kiss to her temple, much to her embarrassment and Nettie’s delight. Untangling his hand from Ziva’s, he moves it to her lower back. “Hey, Nettie, do you think you can do that thing again where you—

“Say no more!” Nettie turns with a flourish. Then, once again, with a few indecipherable words and hand signals, the place begins to clear out. Nettie excuses herself to help with the clean up, leaving Tony and Ziva alone.

“Is there anywhere to get a quick bite to eat around here?” Tony asks, giving Ziva’s back a quick rub. She relaxes into his touch making him wonder if he could convince her to allow him to give her a massage tonight.

“Mmm, yes,” she answers as her eyes fall closed. “Why?”

“After these people leave, I’m getting you out of the house. You need a change of scenery. Hell, I need a change of scenery,” he admits, realizing it for the first time.

“Excellent idea,” Ziva nods, then leaves his side to say goodbye to some guests.

 

* * *

 

True to his word, he takes her out for dinner. She surprises him by leading them to a pizza joint, offering him only a sheepish smile when he asks if she would rather eat somewhere a little more unique to their location. He understands, then, that this is her way of offering him some comfort—familiar food in an otherwise totally unfamiliar situation. Over a few beers, they compare and contrast pizzas of the world. Ziva has been more places, true, but he has made it a point to sample local versions of his favorite food whenever possible. They snap a few photos to send to Abby and McGee and leave feeling full and light-hearted. Not ready to go back to her father’s house, Ziva takes him on a long walk through the neighborhood, pointing out various points of interest to him. They pick up some wine from a liquor store and take turns drinking from the bottle as they stroll. This isn’t where she grew up, so there are few memories of childhood to share, but she shows him some local landmarks, points out interesting architecture, and manages to weave in some funny stories of her youth.

She lets him hold her hand the entire time. He’s happy to see her happy, to know that she has some good memories of her home, too, and that she’s choosing to share them with him. He kisses her breathless after she shows him the soccer field she would visit with friends to flirt with sweaty boys, this one boy Noah in particular. His righteous jealously makes her giggle, or maybe it’s just the wine. Either way, she seems to have a lot more stories about boys she used to know after that.

Tipsy and bone-tired, they stumble back to the house. Ziva stops giggling as soon as they cross the threshold. He watches her with concern, but can’t pick up on anything other than her exhaustion. He decides to let it be. After a moment of indecision, he settles himself into her bed while she’s washing her face.

This doesn’t seem to surprise her. Without a word, she crawls into his arms and falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s the last day they will sit Shiva and Tony needs a break.

Today has been the easiest by far. It’s mostly just repeat family and friends come to show their support. Tense histories and years apart have given way to fond memories and renewed bonds. Rather than being stressful, things feel more cathartic.

But, still, it’s exhausting trying to keep names and stories straight. The constant chatter of a language he doesn’t understand makes his head pound. He tries to attend to Ziva’s every need. He fills her glass, keeps her fed, and runs interference when a conversation makes her uncomfortable. Being so attentive gets taxing. He just needs a breather, some time to himself. And since kicking all these people out of the house so he can put on a movie, curl up with Ziva, and zone out isn’t an option, he has to find another means of escape.

When he sees Ziva settled into a conversation with her cousins (the few cousins she genuinely seems to like, he observes), he takes the moment to sneak off. Given the house is overrun with friends and family, he heads for the patio. For a moment he thinks he’s alone. But after inhaling the acrid fumes of a cigarette, he realizes he’s not.

“Busted,” a beautiful young woman grins from behind a potted plant when he seeks out his smoking companion. She gives him a once over, seems to deem him acceptable, and relocates to a bench not hidden by foliage. She gestures to the space next to her and, since Tony’s been standing for the better part of four hours, he takes a seat. She offers him a smoke, which he politely refuses. She shrugs. It is a mannered gesture meant to convey elegance and confidence and it makes Tony smirk in amusement. This is a girl well practiced in manipulating men. A David woman to be sure, with her intense chestnut eyes and thick mane of hair. He sees traces of Ziva in the assured air she wears, but traces of a younger Ziva, the one who used to drive him crazy just to occupy the after lunch lull.

“Ziva’s cousin, right?” He asks, though he is quite certain of the answer.

She nods. “Elyse. Dina is my mother.”

“Elyse,” he repeats, trying to remember it. Her voice is low and raspy, from the smoking no doubt. She turns toward him, leaning provocatively against the arm of the bench rather than against the back of it. She looks him up and down as she takes a long drag on her cigarette.

“And you are Ziva’s man?” She teases, blowing smoke upwards.

Tony just raises his eyebrows. “I guess.”

Elyse seems to like this answer. Her red-painted lips curl up. She tosses her hair, her eyes never wavering from him.

Admittedly, he’s kind of afraid of this woman. Well, girl, really. Not that he can’t control himself, because he definitely, definitely can, but she has that certain David charm, as Nettie called it, and she is clearly used to chewing men up and spitting them out. And all at the tender age of…

“Twenty,” she winks when he asks. “A very mature twenty.”

“Uh huh,” he chuckles nervously and looks for an escape route. What excited him at thirty is just plain exhausting now. He tries to guide the conversation down a safe path. He supposes he could just leave, but he doesn’t want to be rude to Ziva’s family and, besides, he’s a special agent and she’s not more than a teenage girl. He can handle it. He asks her mundane questions about school (she’s attending university in Paris) and family (she’d rather not talk about that). He tries to keep his distance but she keeps scooting closer. Keeps looking at him like he’s her next meal. She’s tucked her bare legs up to her body now and if there was more room between them, he is pretty certain she’d start crawling towards him. He tugs at the collar on his shirt. And he’d just wanted some air.

“ _Elyse_ ,” Ziva is suddenly looming over them. They both startle, Tony especially so once he sees the fire blazing in her eyes. Ziva snaps something in Hebrew at Elyse that sends her scurrying back into the house looking less like a seductress and more like a bratty teenager. Tony stands up. Adjusts his suit.

“What. Are. You. Doing.” Ziva spits out at him. She’s in his space right away, practically chasing him further into the yard. It’s then he notices that the floor to ceiling windows of the house probably afforded Ziva a nice view of Elyse’s amateur attempts at seduction.

“I was just talking with your cousin, Ziva,” he responds, trying to stay calm. Her reaction makes him feel guilty and awkward, like he really did something majorly wrong. But he was just sitting next to the girl for God’s sake. There is no crime in that.

Ziva leads him past the small garden and into the pool area. He notes that they are out of sight of the picture window now and any potential onlookers.

“She’s only twenty, Tony! Have you no self-control?” She isn’t yelling. No, it’s something more like hissing and it is terrifying.

“I wasn’t….” He scrambles for a comeback, for the best words to defend something he wasn’t even doing. “We were just talking, Ziva.”

“Just talking,” she huffs. “Right. Elyse was practically falling into your lap.”

“Are you kidding me right now? Do you honestly think that I would hit on your _cousin_?” And despite the fact that he knows he should stay calm in the face of Ziva’s irrational rage, his voice rises because, shit, seriously? She really thinks he would do that? At her father’s funeral? After what has happened between them?

“I do not know, Tony,” she hurls back. Her cheeks are bright red now, eyes flaming. He tries to keep his distance from the pool, not wanting to end up in it. It’s much too chilly for that. “You didn’t seem all that interested in _me_ this morning!”

He sputters at that. “What?”

But Ziva doesn’t slow down her indictment. “And now here comes along my young, sexy cousin and suddenly you’re all over her! Because heaven forbid DiNozzo keeps it in his pants for once!”

“ _What_?” Tony tries to wrap his brain around the conversation, tries to understand where Ziva is coming from. “This morning? I was _very interested_ , not sure how you missed that, but your aunts were coming over. There wasn’t time!”

Ziva snorts and crosses her arms across her chest. Then, shaking her head, she turns to go.

“Ziva,” he pleads, wanting to resolve this ridiculous argument.

She stops. Then, after a long moment, she turns back around. All the rage is gone from her face. She just looks tired. “What are you even doing here, Tony?”

He’s too stunned to react at first. He watches as her shoulders sag as she heads back for the house. But he can’t let her go. He can’t let her leave it like this. Not after all that has happened the past few days. And, sure, maybe he hasn’t done everything right but, fuck, he deserves some credit for trying.

He catches up to her easily. She looks surprised, hesitant even, when he grabs her shoulders and forces her to stay.

“You _know_ why I’m here, Ziva,” he says firmly. “Don’t do this. Please.”

“Don’t do what?” she murmurs and it’s clear the fight has left her now. Still, he doesn’t release her, doesn’t speak with any less conviction.

He makes sure she’s looking into his eyes. “You can get angry at me all you want. You can bitch me out for the way I chew my food or for forgetting your uncle’s name or for looking bored during the evening prayer. I will be your personal punching bag if that’s what you need because I know you’re pissed as hell at Eli and this whole situation. But, please, do not accuse me of not caring for you.”

Her chin trembles as his voice enters an octave of desperation. Her eyes water and he kind of feels like an ass for going off on her when he knows her emotions are so far out of her control right now.

“You can yell at me again now, if you want,” he offers with a sheepish grin.

Closing her eyes, she shakes her head and then drops it forward to rest on his chest. Her hands circle his waist as he enfolds her into his arms.

“I do not want to yell at you anymore, Tony,” she sniffles. “I am sorry. I know you weren’t, you know, with Elyse. I just saw you two through the window. I could see her flirting with you and you were being charming. I just got so angry all of a sudden.”

“Oh? Really? I hadn’t noticed?” He teases, stroking her hair.

She half-heartedly knees him in the thigh, but laughs. “Admit it, she is your type.”

“Of course,” he agrees. “A young, hot, sultry Israeli woman who is vaguely frightening? Sounds about right. Though I think Elyse is a little too young for me. Know anyone who skews a little older?”

She smirks, pulling back enough to fix his tie. He doesn’t let her out of his arms though. “I really am glad that you are here, Tony,” she confesses, studying the lapel on his jacket.

He kisses her forehead, hugging her close one more time. “Me too, ninja. Me too.”

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the day passes quickly. The Aunts stay late, feeding them plate after plate of food and a seemingly never-ending supply of wine (“The bastard’s good stuff! Finally!” Dina proudly declares.)

Tony delights in the family stories being told, happy to shade in Ziva’s past with moments that aren’t marred by the specter of Eli. Ziva is animated and loud, the side of herself that only seems to come out when she’s truly comfortable. He soaks in the way her laugh seems to shake her whole body, how she has a facial expression for every one of her aunts’ crazy stories.

Nettie outs them early on, tossing off a comment about how The Aunts are probably intruding on their alone time. And since it’s true that all David women are apparently delightfully tenacious hellcats, he is forced to endure a solid hour of interrogation. But never let it be said that he can’t work a room because he easily wins over the women with a few aw-shucks grins and carefully chosen stories from their partnership. Ziva, too, seems especially proud of him, becoming more affectionate with each glass of wine she consumes.

And as the women are laughing, Tony is struck once again by how much Ziva has given up for Mossad. By what Eli had forced her to give up when he sent her to her death, when she had no choice but to become an American citizen. How is it that one man could make Ziva prefer to spend her life with an ocean between herself and these people who clearly love her so? He’s met many of them these past few days. And now, watching her gossip with her aunts, he’s hard pressed to remember a time when she seemed so at ease, so free. He guesses it makes sense this is where she’d be most relaxed, surrounded by family and the stunning tableau of her homeland.

Ziva seems to sense his mood, turning to him with concern in her eyes. And because he can’t possibly put into words what he’s thinking right now, he simply leans over and kisses her softly. Ziva pulls away, pleased but vaguely confused by the gesture.

“I think that is our cue to leave!” Aunt Barbara declares, hustling her sisters out of their chairs.

Ziva protests, but it’s weak at best.

They see The Aunts out the door, fielding lots of hugs and kisses and promises to keep in touch on the way. One of them even pinches his ass. He suspects it was Dina but he can’t be sure.

Tony waits until Ziva locks the door before he makes his move. Before she can speak, he has her backed up against the wall and kisses her deeply.

“Come to bed with me?” he asks, voice thick.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she laughs. She kisses him one more time before grabbing his hand and dragging him down the hallway.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, he wakes to Ziva untangling herself from his body.

“It’s early,” she says when he tries to follow her out of bed. “I have to go meet with my father’s lawyers.”

“Want me to come?” He asks even though his head is pounding from all the wine the night before and sacrificing more sleep for a morning of legalese sounds awful. He’d survive it for her, though. But she turns down his help and requests that he start to get the house in order. Their flight leaves that night.

She kisses his head, her hand lingering his hair, before leaving and he falls back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s sitting in a park, wearing sunglasses despite the current lack of sun, and taking delicate sips from a bottle of water. Waiting. Just…. waiting.

“You look miserable,” Ziva announces as she sits down on the bench beside him.

He flips down his sunglasses to take her in: a well-tailored black skirt suit that she normally reserves for court, hair cascading down in loose curls, lips glossy…. and, oh yeah, heels that should probably be illegal. “Eh. You look ravishing. Not fair.”

Chuckling, she flips her hair over her shoulder. “The Advil has not helped?”

“Was it some sort of extra-strength wine or something?” He has to ask. His head feels like it might explode. Ziva doesn’t take pity on him. She even steals his water.

“It was just regular wine, Tony. Expensive wine. But regular wine.”

“Hmm,” Tony considers this fact, but isn’t particularly sold on it. He decides to move on. Besides, as long as he doesn’t really move his neck, the drugs seem to be working. “How’d it go with the suits?”

“Fine,” Ziva sighs, massaging her temples a bit. “Fortunately, my father had everything mostly settled. Mossad will take care of the majority of the assets.”

“I see,” Tony says, but he doesn’t. In fact, he’s confused. “Did he leave you anything?”

Squinting into the distance, her hesitation answers the question. “He left me enough.”

“Enough?” Tony’s head spins with possibilities. “What does that mean? Enough for an early retirement to a Caribbean island?”

Ziva scrunches up her face. “No.” Then, upon consideration she adds, “enough to take a nice vacation to a Caribbean island, perhaps.”

This piques Tony’s interest. “For two?”

Snickering, Ziva bumps her shoulder into his. “If you are good…”

“I am always good, Agent David,” he leers, feeling miraculously recovered from his hangover. She tries to pull off an annoyed face but fails miserably.

They fall silent. Ziva stares off at some kids chasing pigeons. Tony frowns at her wistful expression, but waits for her to speak.

“There was something sort of…strange,” Ziva begins. She picks at the hem of her skit, an uncharacteristically nervous gesture.

Unfortunately for his once again pounding head, his mind starts to race. He’s fighting back a wave of nausea when Ziva hands him a letter. And he hasn’t even read it yet.

He blinks a few times until he’s sure he won’t puke all over Eli’s last will and testament to Ziva. Then, he blinks a few times more when he realizes the letter is in Hebrew and therefore he cannot read it.

“Uh, Ziva?” He hands her back the papers. She realizes her mistake and shuffles them around, this time handing him a bank statement in English. He scans the document and his mouth drops open.

Voice thick with emotion, Ziva tries to explain, “He said…In his letter, he said he only ever wanted to make the world a better place for his grandchildren and though he may not have left the world with less evil in it, he could try and assure their futures in a different way.”

“Wow,” is all he can say. Ziva nods her agreement of this sentiment and brushes away the few stray tears that have escaped her eyes. To think, he had spent the morning searching through Eli’s house like he was a suspect in a case. He’d started packing some boxes for Ziva of items she might want shipped home—some cufflinks, watches, a few personal photos, things like that. It took him awhile to realize that, unlike with a case, he was searching Eli’s house for signs of innocence not guilt. Evidence that would prove to Ziva that Eli had loved her, that his recent visit, however ill fated it turned out to be, wasn’t just another mission but a journey of redemption. Perhaps this was that proof.

“It is a trust, to be divided among any children I may have.” She crosses her arms over her chest protectively and leans back on the bench.

With a whistle, Tony does some quick calculations. “That’s college tuition for a whole slew of rug rats.”

“I am not sure how I feel about this, Tony,” Ziva admits She takes the papers from his hand and folds them carefully. “I am not sure I can accept Mossad’s money. I know all too well how some of that money gets made.”

Tony purses his lips. He understands the sentiment, gets it completely, because if roles were reversed and his father had stashed away a chunk of change that could only have been obtained through legally questionable ventures, well, he wouldn’t feel right about taking it, but…. “Still, that is a lot of money, Ziva. Money that would make a pretty big difference in a kid’s future.”

Ziva bites her lip. “I know that.”

“Look,” Tony tries to ease her apprehension. “It’s all in a trust, right?” She nods. “It’s going to sit there for _years_ before you can touch it. And who knows what life will bring in the meantime? Just let it sit in a bank and worry about it later, okay? See how you feel about it in ten years.”

Ziva sighs, seemingly unsatisfied with his advice but willing to accept it nevertheless. “All right.” Stretching her arms in the air, she takes on an overall more relaxed posture, a grin creeping onto her face. “But in the meantime—to keep or sell the Haifa beach house?”

Despite his urge to scream at the infuriatingly smug face she is making, he proceeds carefully. Keeping his face as straight as possible, he considers each word out of his mouth. “Do you have to decide now? Or can it wait until we take a nice long vacation there?” Okay, well, so his mouth got away from him a bit at the end.

Ziva laughs. “I suppose we could do that.” She looks at him, brow wrinkled. “You would like to come back here?”

Tony shrugs. “It’s a much nicer place than my previous visit led me to believe. Plus, I like The Aunts.”

With a smile, Ziva winds her arm around his and leans into him. A gentle breeze whips hair across her face. He watches her take in the scenery.

“Do you miss it here?”

“Yes,” she answers without hesitation. Sensing his uneasiness with her response, she gives his arm a quick squeeze. “But I am ready to go home.”

He beams at her, happy thoughts of D.C. in his head. But then he’s revisited by the doubts he’s had all morning. Unease had crept into his skin when she’d left him this morning. It had taken awhile for it to click, but there had been something in the way she’d lingered over him as he hovered between sleeping and waking that felt like she was saying goodbye. And, sure, she was acting as if nothing had changed now, but… “But what happens when we go home?”

“Our flight gets in at eight in the morning,” Ziva shrugs. “I was thinking shower, breakfast, and a nap.”

She’s looking at him so innocently, so satisfied with her plan, that he realizes she isn’t being glib; she really didn’t get his question.

“No, Ziva,” he makes sure she’s reading the sincerity in his eyes. “What happens to _us_ when we go home?”

For a second, she looks panicked. Then hurt. She draws back from him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, we jumped into this pretty quickly and probably under less than ideal circumstances.” His mind starts to race. Of course, the thought had been there all along—was any of it really a good idea? But she’d needed him. He’d been there for her, made her forget, made her smile, and so surely such tenderness couldn’t be their downfall? Could it?

Her face crumbles. “So, you are saying you do not want this to continue?”

“No,” he answers emphatically. He takes her hand in his. “I’m not saying that at all. I really, _really_ want this to continue.” He’s pleased by the relief that passes over her features. “I just don’t want us to mess this up. It’s too important.”

Nodding her head slowly, Ziva seems to process his words. She squeezes his hand. “And do you think something we are doing now will mess our relationship up?”

Tony considers that. “I think that neither of us have been in the best headspace these last few days. I came here as your partner, your friend, and then I let things—

“You think I was using you?” Her voice climbs to a hysterical pitch. She drops his hand.

“I think if you were, I would be okay with that,” Tony answers honestly, even though the hurt in her eyes is enough to make him nauseous again. “You know how I feel about you,” he adds in a soft voice.

She’s breathing rapidly. Her fingers clench into fists as she stares straight ahead. “And you do not think I feel the same for you?”

He hesitates. “I don’t doubt your feelings, Ziva. I just…” He pauses and tries to gather his thoughts in the scattered mess of his brain. “I would understand if you thought we should take a step back. If this is too much right now.”

With a tight nod, she stands up. She doesn’t answer him. “Let’s go. We have to pack.”

He lets her get a few steps ahead of him and hopes he didn’t just break things between them completely.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the afternoon passes in awkward near-silence. Ziva sorts through Eli’s things and finishes packing the boxes he started. She gives Tony short, toneless orders like “get me this” or “put away that.” It’s all the verbal communication he gets from her. But he feels like he deserves her anger, so he says nothing when she stares daggers at him or swears at him under her breath. Every so often, when she thinks he’s not looking, he catches her on the verge of crying. It breaks his heart and makes him want to go to her, but as soon as he even takes a step closer, she pulls it together again.

He wants to apologize, but he knows that isn’t enough. He doesn’t think he was wrong to question whether this new development between them is well advised or sustainable. Maybe he shouldn’t have made the point in the way he did, but there was no going back now. And he can’t even consider that it will be over between them before it really began or that this hurdle will set them back at a distance after months of growing together. So they’ll just have to work it out, right?

God, he’s such an idiot.

Giving her space as she goes through Eli’s office (because that’s the last place he wants to be with her right now), he finds himself cleaning the kitchen. Tossing leftover food and cleaning dishes provides a good outlet for his frustration. But the kitchen is filled with Ziva’s laughter and the doting words of her aunts and it isn’t long before his anger makes him clumsy and one of the wine glasses he’s putting away shatters on the tile floor.

“Fuck,” he growls in frustration. Bending to the floor, he starts to pick up the bigger pieces of broken glass but then lets those clatter to the ground again when his eyes suddenly well up with tears.

What the hell is he doing?

He closes his eyes and takes several deep breaths. Before he’s done, he feels a hand run down his back. Ziva.

“Hey,” she murmurs, crouching beside him. Her hand rests on his shoulder. “No crying over broken glass.”

He opens one eye to find her looking at him with a cautious smirk. “Spilled milk,” he corrects and watches the smirk widen. It’s a peace offering.

“C’mon,” she says as she stands up. “Let’s find a broom.”

* * *

 

Once the glass is cleaned up, she takes him by the hand and leads him out to the patio. The late afternoon sun warms his face. Ziva moves toward the back of the yard, past the well-manicured gardens, and to the edge of the property. There, a metal railing is their only protection from the drop-off off the bluff the house is situated on. Ziva leans against the railing and looks out at the sea in the distance. She motions her head for him to join her. As soon as he’s standing beside her sharing the view, she starts to speak.

“The only praise I ever received from my father was for being his good little soldier,” she begins. She keeps her eyes focused in the distance. “Tali had it easier, I think, because she had no interest in pleasing him. Abba had to come to her.” Ziva smiles sadly. “But I never knew how to be more than that for him. And once…once, I quit Mossad for good, well, there was nothing else for me to be.”

Tony furrows his brow. “If you think that somehow means your lack of relationship was your fault, Ziva…”

Her eyes tear up a bit. “No. No, of course not.” She takes a deep breath. “What I mean to say is that he only ever knew that side of me. I see now where he was trying to learn more, but, well, I guess we will never know.”

He isn’t sure what to say, and from the loudness of her eyes, he can tell she isn’t done quite yet. He turns so that his back is leaning against the railing and he’s facing her. She still refuses to look at him.

“But you, Tony,” she pauses, picking at her cuticles. “You know me better than anyone, have seen every side of me, and still…” She chuckles. “Still, you are here.” Looking up at him shyly, she smiles. “And these past few days, you have been amazing. I do not know if I could have survived them without you.”

“Of course you could’ve,” he reassures her. She’s the strongest person he knows.

She shakes her head. “But I did not have to find out. And I am glad.” She stands up straight and twists her body so that her hip rests against the railing. “Do you remember when you said that some things are inevitable?”

He does. “Not sure I was in my right mind at the time.”

Pressing her lips together, she uses a hand to illustrate her point. “Perhaps not. But deep down, I agreed with you. This thing between us was always going to happen.”

“It hasn’t always seemed like it,” he disagrees with a raise of his eyebrows. His last trip to Israel comes to mind.

“No, maybe not,” she allows. “But _recently_ …”

He grins at that. “Yeah, _recently_ , I’ve just been waiting for the right moment.”

“And so maybe this was the right moment?” Ziva theorizes. A contemplative look comes over her face, the type of look she gets when puzzling over a tangled case. He just shrugs, wanting to hear her tease it out. He suddenly feels optimistic she will. She tilts her head to the side, a warm smile lighting her face. “It felt like the right moment.”

“Yeah,” he concedes, a matching grin on his lips as he thinks of the moments of light that have sprung from the darkness of the last few days. “And who knows when I would’ve gotten up the courage to make a move otherwise.”

 “True,” she laughs. She threads her fingers through his. “So when we get back to D.C…?”

“We will figure it out,” he completes. Because, yeah, they do have some more work to do to make this chance in their relationship work. But Ziva, as always, made the point that sets his mind at ease: they were headed here anyway. And maybe Eli’s death hurried things along and removed flowers and romance from the equation for the time being, but they’d weathered yet another storm and this time they’d done it together.

“Good,” Ziva nods before pulling his mouth down to hers to kiss him. They are both left breathless when she eventually pulls away.

“It would be a shame if we didn’t do that anymore,” Tony remarks, smug grin in place.

Ziva just waggles her eyebrows at him. “Mmm, yes, among other things.”

Tony does a quick calculation of their timetable. Damn. Those other things will have to wait.

“C’mon, Tony.” Ziva tugs on his hand as she starts back toward the house. “Time to go home.”

 

 


End file.
